First Snow
by Ptronille
Summary: "It was snowing. The pure, unmarred fabric had always moved him. It had an exciting effect on the people of Storybrooke, too, he realized as he – regretfully – trudged his way to his shop. He stopped there, on the threshold, for one last look before going in to his dark wood and antiques and age and loneliness. And that's when he saw her." A moment between Gold & Emma. (Two, now.)
1. First Snow

_First snow in Beijing. This moment crept upon me, and I had to write it. Enjoy._

* * *

It was snowing.

It had started during the night and hadn't stopped. The snowflakes twirled unsteadily in the air, moved to and fro by the wind, before settling on their final bed, the roofs, the sidewalks, the road. Everything was covered in a thick blanket already, some of it already ruined by the footsteps of those who had to get up in the morning. The air was cold and crisp, and came out in white puffs, even his own, reminding him that he was human, here.

Mister Gold's bad leg throbbed painfully in the cold weather, but he found he didn't mind. He liked snow; for all it reminded him of his lonely castle back in the Enchanted Forest, he liked snow. The pure, unmarred fabric had always moved him. It had an exciting effect on the people of Storybrooke, too, he realized as he – regretfully – trudged his way to his shop. Already there were children throwing snowballs at each other, laughing, jumping up and down. The adults were more composed, but there was also a spring to their step, a peculiar inflexion in their voice as they spoke louder than usual. Even his passage barely hindered their good mood. He was fighting not to smile, as well; he was the villain figure, the black spot amidst the white, their reminder that reality was not as beautiful as the morning snow made it seem – it would not do to smile.

Yes, Storybrooke was definitely more agitated today, he decided as he walked up the step of his shop. He stopped there, on the threshold, for one last look before going in to his dark wood and antiques and age and loneliness.

And that's when he saw her.

She was standing on the other side of the road in the middle of the sidewalk, still when all around were moving, silent when all around were speaking. She was looking up in wonder, her blue eyes opened wide to the beauty of the falling snowflakes, her pink lips slightly parted; her own blonde hair was slowly turning white, and the flakes made a sharp contrast against the red of her leather jacket, but she didn't notice, so caught up was she in the moment. Mister Gold stared. The sheriff was a matter-of-fact, down-to-earth woman, a woman who would swear magic didn't exist if she was threatened with a gun at point-blank, a woman who only believed what she saw, who had a hard time trusting people and who never showed her feelings if she could help it. And yet there she was, watching the snow like the little girl she'd never been allowed to be, still, silent, reveling in the magic of it all.

Emma Swan had always been a beautiful woman – but now, she was splendid.

And then the moment passed and Mr Gold could not retain a sigh escaping from his lips as she looked down, once again caught up by time and space. From across the streets their eyes met. He could not help smiling then, a tinge sadly as he regretted that the instant had not lasted longer. He gave her a nod, knowing what to expect. She would scoff or glare or sneer, and turn away as she always did when dealing with him.

Yet she did not. His heart skipped a beat when she smiled, for it lit up her face in a way he'd never before been privileged to see.

And he would have gone inside his shop, content to treasure this moment and replay it in his mind – except she was crossing the street. His hand tightened around his cane as she stopped next to him, his heart sent pounding in a way it hadn't for a very, very long time.

"Hello, Mister Gold." There were those blue eyes looking into his own, and this long, blonde hair full of snow, and this smile that tugged at something inside of him. She was so close. He almost trembled, and the cold had nothing to do with it. "Beautiful day isn't it?"

It was a second before he found his voice. "Indeed, Miss Swan," he replied with a dry throat, causing his tone to be slightly rough. His heart still pounding in his ears, he drank in the sight of her; when he answered, he was not speaking of the day. "Beautiful."


	2. First Rain

Raining in Beijing, today. I was tickled, so here is another moment. Be warned, the style is not quite the same. Different weathers, different atmospheres. Different styles. =)

After First Snow, First Rain.

* * *

It was raining, a heavy hard downpour that drowned the whole of Storybrooke.

Gray clouds gorged with water hung low in the sky, a threatening looming mass, unbroken by even the slightest pinprick of light; and though it was five, or perhaps six, it seemed as if it was night already. Pools and streams flooded the streets till walking without drenching one's feet became a whole new treacherous experience. The few pedestrians bold enough to venture out in such weather – he could make out Archibald Hopper's tasteless beige raincoat, vague and hazy through the drenched windowpane, and his faithful dog at his side – hastened to carry out their business, struggling with umbrellas that a violent wind stubbornly tried to snatch away. If he was not perfectly aware of being in a magic-free world – though no magic-less by any means – he would have believed anyone claiming the storm to be a spell. He was glad that it was not, however; to see that no matter how fascinating and wonderful magic could be – and _powerful, powerful, powerful,_ a mad part of him that was the Dark One's voice whispered at the back of his head – nature still kept him on his toes.

Mister Gold was pulled away from his reflections by the jingle of his shop, and it was all he could do not to show any surprise. He had not expected any customer in such weather – but business was business, and waited for no one.

He did not yet turn to the newcomer, however, nor move from the window where he was hidden from their view. Let them simmer a bit. Nerves helped push them to make a deal. He did not even glance towards them. One would have thought being in human form, such a _weak _one, would have made him more wary of any potential attacker, but he was not worried, hardly even cautious. The people in this town, and most of the people in this world from what he could see, were not dangerous, at least not physically so. Their spirits, their unbreakable spirits remained, though dimmed by the curse, but the violent streak that was the mark of their world, the instinct to kill or be killed had vanished. Killing really was anathema in this world. A curious, if interesting notion.

At the thought of killing, the Dark One's voice started up again, muttering of blood and death and souls, his preferred source of magic. The newcomer shifted their weight, and finally Mister Gold turned to see who had come to pay him such an unlikely a visit.

As soon as he laid eyes on her, the Dark One's voice cut short.

It was amazing the effect she could have on him. Just like that, Mister Gold felt his mind clearer – _cleaner _– than just a moment ago. And it was all he could do not to smile.

She was soaked through, and drenching his carpet as well, drops running down her leather jacket in near rivulets down to the floor. Her dripping hair was testimony that she had neither hood nor umbrella to face the battlefield that was the weather outside. He felt that damn smile he was restraining pull at the corner of his lips as the thought that she'd come in his shop for a brief respite – as if his shop was a haven, a lull in the battle. He almost shook his head at the absurdity of the thought. She might made his mind clearer, but he felt decidedly stupid, too.

She had frozen like game seeing the hunter's arrow, a hand immobile in her hair when she had been running it through to shake the rain drops out. She dropped her hand as casually as she could manage, but there was a slight sheepish look in her eyes. Only slight; Emma Swan was not one to be easily shamed. Or cowed into submission, now that he thought about it.

He really was smiling now. He settled for a polite one. If he was going to smile, he was damn well going to control it.

"Hello, Miss Swan," he offered.

"Hello, Mister Gold." She looked unfazed, now, a calm woman who held herself with quiet pride, with apparent confidence, unabashed at her sodden state, or that his carpets had growing water stains where she stood. The image she had begun projecting when facing him, the wild card whom she didn't know if she could trust. He could see the Princess in her, now, though she hadn't been raised for the role. No, not the princess, nor the queen; there was a stately majesty to her, to be sure, but there was something else, a light… He could not settle on a term, but goddess seemed the closest she could come to.

The thunder suddenly burst, rolling around in the sky like a thousand armies' horses' hooves, and she looked outside before turning back to him. Her eyes held a particular look that he could not quite place, but he felt he was not in disgrace, today.

"Terrible weather," she said with the clipped shortness that characterized her.

"Indeed." He grew amused, and leaned on his cane to mask it. A goddess in appearance, maybe, but so human besides. Trust a human to speak to an ogre of the weather, if given the chance! This humanity… It made her fragile, vulnerable, more so than she would ever admit, even to herself. Perhaps especially to herself. But it was what would save them all, he knew.

A woman of many faces, Emma Swan, yet somehow synthesized in a coherent whole, a mystery he had yet to unravel fully.

Even the Dark One was in awe of her.

She was looking outside again. Unwilling to let the silence stretch too long, he tried again. "I'm surprised you decided to walk out in the rain."

She gave a half-shrug. He did not appreciate shrugs, but she made it so graceful he could forgive her the slight. "I like a good drive, but there is so little visibility I was afraid of running over someone."

"I suppose it makes sense. No umbrella?"

"I don't like them." Such a flat answer. Was she displeased? No, there was no tenseness in her stance, no sign she was restraining anger; she just didn't like umbrellas.

"Would you care for some tea, Miss Swan?"

Her eyes finally focused on him, meeting his head-on, and he had to fight the urge to take a step back. He felt exposed under her gaze – she was a goddess indeed, and one of judgment now – and he feared she would not like what she saw.

She would say no, and she would leave, and no matter how her absence would leave a void in the room, at least he would be safe.

But once again, like that day in the snow, she went against all odds, and she gave him a smile. He found he couldn't breathe.

"I'd like that."

He nodded, looking away. With regret, but if he did not there was no hope of keeping his countenance. He started to turn to go and make tea; he needed the space, though he was loath to figure out why.

"Let me get it for you," she said, and disappeared into the back room as if she had always belonged there.

And he smiled a rueful smile, at this woman who had waltzed into his mind the way she had waltzed into the shop, unnoticed except for a warning bell, whom he had let linger in his arrogance, confident he could chuck her out at any time. He started chuckling, wondering how he had ever thought to win against the indomitable force that was Emma Swan.

She popped her head back into the room. "Jasmine or Earl Grey?"

She was puzzled to find him still smiling, but soon her eyes were dancing with mirth. "Is there something funny, Mister Gold?"

"I think the universe has played a joke on me, Emma."

An arched eyebrow rose at the strange response. "Well, better you than me." Of course she would take it all in stride. Oh, she was a delight. "So? Jasmine or Earl Grey?"

Mister Gold shook his head.

He was glad not only nature kept him on his toes.


End file.
